


run

by keithko_gay_ne



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 21:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12780126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keithko_gay_ne/pseuds/keithko_gay_ne
Summary: new kid at camp?cool.demigod at school?bad.demigod of more than one god?disaster.





	run

 

Sirens. They pound over and over like a dull ache. I think I hear the word ‘vigilante’ repeated, like day and night. White light is floating around, changing into shapes; memories. Mother. Her face tan, wide brown eyes. Her cheekbones hollow. The jet black hair, floating behind her. I feel my face getting wet. I hear a screaming The sound feels close. Then, I realize it’s my own.

*********

The damp smell of the car awaits me when I wake. I tilt my head to see that we have already left the parking lot. I was always told that when life throws you a curveball, you’ll be ready. This was the only thing Mother was wrong about. Well, the second. The seats in the car were new and looked as if the car belonged to the president. Then, again, I have never ridden in a car before. In New York, you could walk practically everywhere. 

I reach for my bag, stretched out across the seat. My hand rummaged through the junk and trash I had collected. Wrapping my hand around the case, I pulled out my phone. Trembling, I turned it on. Mother’s face, there, next to mine. If I had been any bit older, the public would have thought we were sisters. Our eyes looked brown, like the trunk of a pine. Mother and I’s hair looked as if the night sky reflected off of them creating an illusion of stars. We had both been born with hollow cheekbones. Our skin was tan, unusual for an Asian girl. My eyes notice the smiles on our faces, the smile I had lost years ago. This picture was displayed on a gift from people who pity people like me. 

I shoved my phone back into the trench and glanced out the side window. Now, big glass buildings had transformed into pines, surrounded by big brick houses. I already found myself hating it.

The brakes screeched, causing marks, in front of a brightly lit house. The driver, Mrs. Melon, gently twisted the wheel and sent us flying down the driveway. 

 

“You excited!” Mrs. Melon stated, leaving no time for me to respond. I don’t care I would have stayed in my silence anyway. 

 

I kicked open the car door, my bag swinging around. A sign was nailed in the perfect lawn, ‘Go Hillary.’ Crazy people. I never cared for politics. My eyes spotted the path, leading to the front door. Mrs. Melon stood, waiting, like a lion ready to pounce. These people are not my life, they are just a nightmare. 

 

Without knowing it, I am already at the door. Mrs. Melon outstretched her finger and pressed the bell. Silence. Footsteps. The lock turning. The sparrow flies, carrying my heart, my mind, and my conscience away with it. Light pours on my eyes, lighting them a flame. 

A lady, tall and slender, stands in the doorway. “Oh hi Mrs. Melon. I didn’t expect you to arrive this early?” the lady exclaims. “This must be our package.” Her eyes land on me, waiting for me to take her outstretched hand. Of course I didn’t take it. I already hated this woman. “I am Mrs. Hanssen. Your new mother. You can call me ‘mom’.” Her hand still outstretched. “I’d rather not.” I responded, snapping my head in the process. The woman scrunched up her face. Good. This is exactly what I wanted, her to hate me. “Where’s her stuff?” Mrs. Hanssen turning, directing her attention towards my current guardian, wanting no more to do with me. “She doesn’t have any.” Mrs. Melon reported. Well, thanks for stating the obvious. Mrs. Hassen gestured me inside, leaving and Mrs. Melon alone to talk.

The inside of the house was spacious. It seemed as if there was no mudroom, but merely a grand lobby, stair cases stretching from each side.  I keep my shoes on, not willing myself to feel welcome, and treaded up the stairs. Velvet carpet lined the floor boards, creating a look of a musty, old castle. Paintings, stacked, up and down the walls with what seemed to be descended family members, each one staring, burning a hole in my head. Feeling my heart race, I started to sprint up the stairs, leading myself to a gorgeous yellow hall. Every single(Oak wood, I think.)door was open, emitting light onto the dusty floor. All except for the last door. A rope tugged at my chest toward the room, or whatever laid behind it. My legs began to move on their own, step by step, until my feet grounded themselves. Sweat trickled down my neck, causing my hair to stick. My fingers reached out and took hold of the knob. Tight and stiff, my body was. The brass seemed to glow as my hand turned; a creaking sound followed. Surprisingly, the door eased open, revealing nothing special. Before me was a room, everything drowned in a disgusting color of pink. No blue, green, or even brown. Carpets full of the nasty color, covered every inch of the ground. The legs on the bed looked as if the carpet grew arms. Barf(That is what I will be calling this room from now on.) had to have belonged to a young child. Everything felt shrunken. 

“This was mine once.” The voice reached my ears before I could turn around. A girl, no older than me, stood before my eyes, snapping her gum. She must be one of those girls you call ‘popular’. Blinding white, her hair was. Her face was puffy and pale. This girl was the complete opposite of me. He blue eyes locked mine. “Get out of my house,” she scolded, “I will call the cops.” I was going to reject her command. This is my new house and all. The idea was at the tip of tongue until I realized; she has, finally, given me an excuse to run. Let my feet pound on the pavement; having me transported home. I could see my mom. I could say hi. I snapped back to reality, and sprinted through the hallway, shoving the girl in my wake. 

 

I am running again. I always run. Mother used to call me ‘the running man’ because I ran too much. I still do. My destiny is to be faster; I wasn’t fast enough before. Time. It hates me; wants to beat me. Time always wins. If only I was time itself I could…

 

My body jerks to a stop. “Darn, that stupid man. It’s all his fault.” I mutter. He is the one who caused my pain. In the distance, I hear the girl coming after me. I reach out to grab the door, when Mrs. Hassen swings it open. My face smacks against the door, sending me to the ground. My eyes start to cry a swimming pool of salted crimes. I roll over onto my front, a familiar blinding white pain filling my head, my eyes, my soul. Bodies hover over me; hot breaths trickling down my neck. I try to focus on their words but it sounds as if they just swirl down, down, into a spiraling drain.

The girl approaches, her blurry figure eyeing me. She halts right before my face, her leg raised. My whole world goes black as she brings it upon my face.

 

_ “Mama!” _

_ “What is it sweetie?” _

_ “Where’s Daddy?” _

_ “Um...He’s not here.” _

_ “Is he at work? He promised that he’d play checkers with me.” _

_ “No...He is uh...busy.” _

_ “Ok. When will he be home?” _

_ “Not for a while sweetie. Not for a long while.” _

 

I awake to find myself in the hospital, again. A pile of clothes lies in the chair closest to me, occupying it. 

“Oh. Good. You’re up. Your parents are on their way here to pick you up.” the doctor says, lingering at the door, wielding his clipboard as if it was a shield. The doctor was Dr. Bloomberg. He hates me, along with all the other nurses. My first visit wasn’t the best. I kinda...yelled and clawed at those who tried to get near me. 

I glanced down at my lap and noticed that I was fully clothed. Creepy. My torso twisted and I turned, shut my eyes , and drifted off again.

 

I was awakened by the rough hands of Mr. Hanssen. My brain realized, Mr. Hanssen looks just like Mrs. Hanssen. That is scary. I would have suggested that they were related, twins even. 

When my vision came into full focus, I saw her. The girl who struck me in the face. “Atlantica, say sorry to your sister.” Mrs. Hanssen scolded her daughter. “She is not my sister.” Atlantica responded with such a tone that it almost seemed like she could cut out my heart and not give a care. Agreed. I am not this rotten brats’ sister.

We all stood there(Well I sat there.)in utter silence.

“Come on, let us go home,” Mr. Hanssen charmed, ”We all know you’ve got school tomorrow.”

 

Dinner that night was silent. Not even a word. Above us the chandelier glittered, illuminating stars all about the room. The table stretched far, creating enough room that if I stuck my elbows up, I would not even come in close contact with the next person. Before me, my steak and broccoli swirled round and round. They, Mrs. Hanssen and her cook Sally, probably poisoned it, having the food create a feeling of joy. I won’t be happy. I can’t be happy. Me, I need to go home to my real home, New York. I want to go back to the dirty allies and the absent venders. I miss my little house, containing my collection of glass bottles. I miss the alley cat Tom; he brought me dead rats. But most of all I miss my mother.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Mr. and Mrs. Hanssen shot out the question, their mouths perfectly in sync. I stood up, pushing my chair back against the wall. “I’m not hungry,” my hands running up and down the side of my perfectly pressed jeans, “I just wanna go to bed.”

 

I laid there in bed wishing I had eaten the food, even if it was poison. My stomach squeezed, twisted, and churned, making my throat burn. I vomited.

 

_ “How was your day, cat girl?” _

_ “It was okay.” _

_ “You sure? Doesn’t sound like it.” _

_ “Nobody likes me Mom. Nobody.” _

_ “Oh, I love you Blake.” _

_ “No. Nobody likes to talk to me.” _

_ “Sweetie, they’re just jelly.” _

 

_ My mom stood before me, her work uniform still on. The image faded. Now, here she is, sick as a dove in the rain.  _

 

_ “Mom! Are you okay?” _

_ “Yes...I’m…” _

_ “Mom! I’m going to get a doctor!” _

_ “No, just stay here with me. Get medicine.” _

 

_ I was stupid. I ran to the hospital. _

 

_ “Please, she needs help!” _

_ “Sorry other patients need me.” _

_ “She’s gonna die!” _

_ “No. Sorry. I’ll send Dr. Jason instead.” _

_ “Okay! Hurry!” _

 

_ I took too long. She left. _

_ She is gone now, never to be seen by my eyes ever. _

 

I awake. Tears flow down my face. I throw my blanket over and step out of bed. My hair stuck up, making me a perfect replica of Medusa. Lifting my hand; I checked my watch. School starts today. I sprinted over to the closet, swing open the door, and snatch the outfit laid out for myself. A blue shirt with dull words spelling out ‘New York Queen’ paired with a pair of dark blue ripped jeans. Quickly, I shimmed out of my night-wear. Snatching my brush, I started to part my hair, throwing my clothes on in the process. As soon as I am done; my feet stomp down the staircase. A bowl of cereal has been left on the counter for me. I taste a spoonful, my palate exploding. It was so bad. Milk comes flying out of my mouth. My throat is stained with the taste of lead; heavy and metallic. 

I leave my bowl there, not willing to pick it up. My lunch bag rests on the counter. It’s covered with unicorns, so many it seems as if they starting an invasion. My eyes linger on the bag a little bit longer until I decide to toss it in my backpack. I, then, sprint over to the shoe bin and grab my high-tops. They easily slip on my feet.

“Have a great first day of school!” Mrs. Hanssen shouts at me as I leave. I don’t respond, but instead hurry and slam the door behind me. Atlantica is already on the porch, snapping her gum and texting her friends like always. 

“Hello Dork.” she says clearly acknowledging me. 

“Hey, Sea Witch.” my new nickname for her. She cringes; suddenly straightening her back. A few minutes pass by with tense silence. This silence was shattered, though, by the low grumbling coming down the street. Metal chain clanked, along with the screeches of the brakes. A yellow school bus, with the black letters spelling out ‘Bus #13’ on the side, pulled up in front of the house(And yes, I do know how to read.). Swinging my bag over my arm, I approached the vehicle. I broke my stride three feet from the door. A lady, tall and dark with a pair of green spectacles, questions me, “What’s your name, hon?” I could tell her a fake name, but before I could think of one “Blake.” rolls off my tongue. 

The doors swing open. I reach out, grab the railing, and hoist myself up. Atlantica is right behind me, not even lifting a glance from her phone. 

Plastering a fake smile on my face, I turn and face the fellow children. Not many seats were empty. My body shuffles down the aisle and plop into the first empty seat I find. Tilting my head, I watch Atlantica retreat to the back to sit with the senior guys and her friends. A guy tall, with jet-black hair, leans over. His eyes, staring at me. The boy puts a hand up and whispers to Atlantica. She nods; a smile growing on her face. I snap my head back. 

Unprepared, as I am, a paper ball hits my head. People really need to watch where they are throwing. I grab my bag, take out my phone and earbuds; Broadway time. I click my Hamilton playlist and start jamming.

About halfway through the first song, more paper balls hit my head. I know they trying to annoy me so I act unphased.

I keep my act up for ten whole minutes until we finally reached our destination. A tall brown building stands before me. In the top right corner are the words Beacon High School.Those words stab into me, carving enough space for them to linger. My body goes stiff as my feet hit the asphalt. People are running everywhere. I feel them, the rush of the school. Some kids are standing outside in groups, forming...a zoo? One group was full of beautiful girls, another with athletic guys. Everyone seemed to belong to a group. My mind wanders, trying to find its rightful place. A particular group grasps my attention. There were six kids, all clothed in black, standing near the back of the school. Not one of them was makeup free or colorful. My head drops and scans my body. Would I fit in? I start to scuttle over, when a hand grabs my shirt collar.

“You may not want to talk to them.” a gentle voice flowed into my ears. A boy with dark brown hair, eyes like an almond, was smiling at me. He was tall, with broad shoulders and tan skin. 

I maybe stood there would hours, but the ringing of the bell snapped me out of my trance.

“Oh gosh I gotta go!” I told the kid.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” he questions me.

True. I didn’t know where in the heck I even was. Maybe in the courtyard. My eyes surveyed the grassy area. I turned and faced the boy.

“No. I may need some help. First, what’s your name?” I asked for help. I never do that. 

“My name is Jorge DeWinter. I am in 9th grade, you?” Jorge DeWinter, huh? He sounds like a nice guy. 

“Really? I am in 9th grade, too! The name’s  Blake Schnee.”

His face changed to the strangest expression, happiness and surprise. It’s kinda cute.

“What homeroom?”

“Mrs. Hobbs.”

“Same!”

Maybe I made a new friend. A truly good friend. Maybe.

 

School wasn’t so bad after all. Well, so far.

After 5th period, it was lunch. Lunch is, literally, where the stronger pick out the weak. It’s where you choose who you are for the rest of your life here. The choice is like life and death. Near the front of the cafeteria is the nerd’s table. Never sitting there. Next was the dorks. All of them decked out in square glasses and braces. I spot Jorge near the back. By instinct, I wave. He doesn’t see me. Clutching my sketchbook to my chest, I briskly walk down the aisle. I enter the lunch line, only purchasing a salad. Plopping down at the nearest empty table, I begin to draw.

I am interrupted by the rude voice of Atlantica Hanssen. Her and her stupid friends surround me. A boy, very tall with brown hair and light skin, stands with them. My heart starts pounding.

“Hey loser! This our table.” my sorta sister spits.

The girls start bumping my chair. The chalk clasped in my hand slips, leaving a dark streak on the paper. I feel my heart stop. My paper is...ruined. 

I open my mouth to say something, but am silenced by another voice. 

“Leave her alone.”  the boy standing with Sea Witch and her friend pipes up.

“What are you doing Juan?” Atlantica snaps, the muscles in her arms tensing. 

She flips her hair and motions to her girls. They walk away leaving me alone with Juan or whatever the kids name is. He approaches me and sits down right next to me. I feel my cheeks flush. He is definitely going on my crush list.

“You’re really good at drawing! Can you show me some of your others?” Juan asks me, putting on a silly face.

I open my sketchbook to the animated characters section. The first drawing was of a Japanese warrior. Then there was a comic of my favorite anime, Attack on Titan. Juan flipped the page; his eyes grew huge. A picture was taped on the page, a picture of me. I was in my favorite outfit, the one my mom bought me. In the photograph I was kneeling on a New York City sidewalk, my back pressed against a brick wall of an alley. 

“You’re so...pretty.” Juan’s eyes laid upon me.

I kept my face straight; sorta shocked. Nobody, besides my mom, has ever said that to me. Sweat trickles down my neck and my face turns pink. The pink faded into red, until I realized he probably noticed. Snapping my head back to its original position, I reminded myself that boyfriends are not on the agenda list. My eyes glance up at the clock. 5 minutes til study hall or 6th period. 

“Are you okay?” Juan noticed I was acting up.

“Thank you. For what you said earlier.” I responded.

“You’re welcome.” You wanna sit with me tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

I pushed my chair back and stood up, waving goodbye to Juan. My brain replayed the past 15 minutes over and over again. What am I thinking? I can’t like this kid. He is friends with Atlantica. What if she is not that bad? I turn around to pick up my drawing materials. My thoughts drift and twist around and round. I am about to convince myself that Atlantica is great when Jorge scares me. A worried look crosses his face.

“I saw you sitting with Juan during lunch. He is a bad kid. I wouldn’t trust him. He has a horrible reputation of breaking girls hearts.” Jorge informs me his eyes full of worry.

My mind started to swirl.

“But he stood up for me.” I voiced my thoughts aloud.

“How about you sit with me at lunch tomorrow? I’ll tell you more about him and his jockeys tomorrow,” Jorge smirks at me, “I will walk you to your locker.”

The bell charmed as we left the cafeteria, heading towards my locker.

 

_ My locker was located near the science room.  Before lunch, everyone from class leaves when I get my stuff from my locker. _

 

_ Nobody ever saw inside it though. _

 

_ I had a picture of my mom and dad. Many pieces of my art decorated the rest of the blank space. _

_ One fateful afternoon, I found out that why my dad ran away. I tore the picture in half. _

 

_ And burned his face. _

Jorge was silent, walking next to me, or maybe it was me who was the silent one. The halls were brick, white and blue tile floor. Very few students still lingered in the hall. As we approached my locker, a thought crossed my mind. Why is Jorge  **walking me to my locker?** I could have come up with different phenomenons, but I gave myself one answer, ‘Because he is my friend.’

“Aren’t you gonna open it?” Jorge reminded me.

My body jerked and I entered my code. Then, I pulled it open, cautiously. Pain landed a direct punch to my gut. Jorge kept at a straight face, but I could see in his eyes that this was something he didn’t want to see. 

  
  



End file.
